She'll be all right
by Anna Fay
Summary: The Ministry didn't open the gates of Azkaban for free, and all who wish to remain out of prison have to work hard to pay this enormous debt. Set during the Second Wizarding War; focusing on the various groups of Snatchers and our favourite, Scabior.
1. Chapter 1

Compared to their usual camps, this was heaven.

True, there were only two walls left of the old building, but they gave a surprisingly good protection against the ever-howling wind, and at least some sense of security, which was even more important to Jonathan. During the five weeks they've spent on the run, he could get used to the cold and the rain, even to the noises that filled the forest in the night, but never having anything solid behind his back was driving him crazy.

He wondered if they could risk spending not one, but two nights at the same place, just for this once.

Burying his chin deeper into his scarf, he glanced sideways to Finn, but of course he was already out, nothing but the top of his curly hair visible above the hem of his coat. They were both tired to the bone, but Jonathan was still surprised to see how his friend could put down his head and fall asleep, just like that. Maybe it was yet another useful trick of the Aurors, to be able to rest whenever you had five minutes for it, and wake as if your eyes have never been closed.

Not that he had anything to say against those tricks. The last time he went anywhere near a defensive spell, was back in their seventh year with Gilderoy Lockhart, so it was only Finn's training that was keeping them alive, even if he tried to deny it to be a good friend.

"One day I'll be more than happy to have a Healer at hand," he would say. "But I hope it won't be any time soon."

To keep himself from falling completely into this awful mood, Jonathan cast another Illuminating Spell on his glasses and flipped the book sitting in his lap open with a deep sigh. When he bought it during the last time they dared to set foot in a gas station, he thought it would be about treasure hunters in early modern Egypt, and only learned after a hundred pages, that the protagonist, Miss Victoria de Vere was after completely different adventures along the Nile. But still, it was a book, and the time wasn't right for being picky. It wasn't that badly written, anyway.

He could not, however read more than a few paragraphs, when he felt his wand shake in alarm, as their protective enchantments were broken. He gave Finn a nudge on the shoulder, before leaping to his feet.

"Stop there!" he yelled, as he heard someone moving behind the bushes.

"I mean you no harm!" replied a woman. "Please, I'm just looking for my friends," she added in a scared voice.

"Come out slowly," cried Finn.

"And no tricks," added Jonathan, conjuring a small light to get a good look at the witch emerging from the bushes. She held her wand up in the air, gripping it by the tip, but she kept her other hand down, clutching her side.

"I want you to drop your wand on the ground, and tell us what you are doing here," he said in his best voice of authority. It was easy to see that she hesitated for a moment, but finally she let her hand down and dropped her wand too, putting a foot on it on the ground cautiously.

"Don't worry," said Finn, giving her a half-smile, "We don't want to hurt you either. You already said, you were looking for your friends, so go on."

"We were attacked two days ago, and I got separated from them," she said, keeping a foot on her wand, but letting some of the tension in her shoulders go.

"Attacked by who?" asked Jonathan, lowering his wand a bit to stop blinding her with its light.

"Snatchers," she said, almost hissing, and Jonathan could not suppress tightening his jaw. "They must have tracked us, we have already settled down for the night, when they came. They took one of us, but I saw two of the guys running away, and this is the road we would have taken, so I thought you were them. But you are not," she finished with a sad shrug.

"Are you hurt?" frowned Jonathan, as she kept her hand on her side still.

"I'll live," she shook her head with a painful smile.

"I can have a look at it," he offered, taking a step closer to her. "I'm a Healer."

"No thanks," she let her hand down, giving him another reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

"Do you think they could have followed you?" asked Finn, scanning the forest behind her.

"No. Not really," she said, shaking her head. "I've spent last night hiding on a tree, and nothing happened."

"All right then," said Finn, giving Jonathan a glance. "I'll go and check the enchantments," he adjusted his coat, stepping closer to the witch. "Finn," he smiled, extending a hand.

"Tamora," said she, taking it and returning the smile, before bending down to scoop up her wand as he walked past.

"And I'm Jonathan," he said, motioning towards the walls. "Sorry for the unfriendly welcome."

"No problem," said Tamora, following him to sit down. "I guess it was a bit stupid of me, marching in without taking a proper look at you."

"Yeah, a bit," nodded Jonathan, knitting his brows slightly as they sat down next to each other. "Have you by any chance been a Ravenclaw?" he asked.

"Yes," said Tamora with a politely confused smile. "Do we know each other?"

"I think I know you," said Jonathan. "My big sister was in Ravenclaw too, the same year as you, I think. Evelyn Miller. But you used to be blonde back then, right?"

"Yes, I... Yes, " said Tamora, but after that she went a bit speechless, clearly surprised by the fact that he recognised her with the jet black bob all Ravenclaw girls had to try at least once in their lives.

"Everything all right?" asked Jonathan, as Finn rejoined them by the wall.

"Perfeclty," he said, sitting down beside them and stretching his legs.

"Guess what," smiled Jonathan. "Tamora here knows Evelyn. Small world!"

"Yes, small world," she nodded. "So Evelyn! How is she?"

There was a mere second of silence before Jonathan gave her a sad smile. "I don't know," he said. "You see, she and mum, they left when V–"

"Don't!" cried Tamora, almost hitting him in the face as she covered his mouth. "Don't say the Name! It's been Tabooed by the Ministry."

"Really? When?" asked Finn, slightly frowning.

"You think that's how he...?" whispered Jonathan, a bit shaken by the fact that he had almost got themselves into grave danger.

"Probably," nodded Finn, keeping his eyes and ears on the forest around them.

"How he what?" asked Tamora, slowly pulling her legs back up against her chest.

"We've been attacked too," said Finn, with eyebrows still knit. "About three weeks back. And we never learned how he could have found us, we were covering our traces with great care."

"He?" echoed Tamora.

"You should have seen him," replied Jonathan, his face lighting up with pride. "He was all alone, but this huge, monster of a man, with beard and hair everywhere, and this belt with broken wands hanging from it, like some Indian, showing off his scalps."

"Nice," said Tamora with a wry smile.

"Have you heard that they pay extra for our wands?" asked Jonathan. "So this sick bastard was not in for the money at all! Or why would he keep the wands and not give it to the Ministry as well?"

"I think she gets the idea," smiled Finn.

"But the best part is," said Jonathan, opening his bag, "My shiny new spare wand! I think it's mahogany, or ebony, or something like that, but I'm quite sure its core is dragon heartstring," he beamed, presenting the wand as if it was Excalibur itself.

It could have been an act, but Tamora stared at it for a moment too long, as any thrilled audience would. "May I?" she asked, giving him a smile.

"Of course," nodded Jonathan, handing over the wand.

"Yes, I think you're right, it does feel like dragon heartstring," she said, rolling it between her fingers, before looking up at Jonathan, biting her lip. "I know it's an awful lot to ask, but, I was wondering if there was any way for me to–" she started, choosing her words carefully.

"Have it?" frowned Jonathan with surprise.

"No, of course not!" said Tamora quickly. "But if it's all right with you, I'd like to use it, because mine's been hit by a curse, and I'd like to see if I could mend it somehow."

"You know how to mend a wand?" asked Finn with a frown.

"I think the core got a bit loose inside, so I'd try to fix that," she nodded.

"You shouldn't toy with it like that," said Jonathan firmly, showing the wand into her hand. "Here, give it a try, and if it works for you, you can have it."

"No way!" gasped Tamora. "No, I can't –"

"Yes, you can, and you will," nodded Jonathan. "Take it."

"Thank you," she said, taking Jonathan's hand in hers, and he was sure he saw tears forming in her eyes. "Thank you!"

"I'm not using it anyway," he said, waving his hand generously.

"Here, try heating these," said Finn, taking a couple of tin cups out of his bag and pouring some water in them. Tamora waved the Snatcher's wand in the air experimentally before touching it to the side of one cup, to duplicate it, then making the water bubble in all three.

"I think it likes you," nodded Jonathan, dropping a bag of tea in each of them.

"Mine's dragon heartstring too," smiled Tamora, caressing the new wand, before stretching out a leg to hide the old one in her boot.

"On your luck of meeting us then," said Finn, raising his cup, but Tamora held up her hand before he could take more than a sip of it.

"Just a second," she said, rummaging her pockets, then presenting a small paper bag, like the ones they give in cafés, containing a single serving of sugar and pouring a third of it of each of their cups.

"Sweet carbohydrates," sighed Jonathan, bringing the cup to his lips with a smile. "It's Muggle for happiness," he added, when Tamora gave him a puzzled look.

"Oh, I was rubbish at Muggle Studies," she chuckled apologetically. "It was way-way beyond me."

"So you're not here because of your Blood Status," nodded Finn, taking a sip from his tea.

"No," said Tamora, shaking her head with a smile.

"Then let me guess," frowned Jonathan, turning towards her to get a better look. "You said, you were with friends, so at least one of you must be in trouble."

"Order of the Phoenix," stated Finn, without a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Order of the... No," laughed Tamora. "What on earth makes you think that?"

"You are not an auror, but you have experience," smiled Finn. "You've been attacked by Snatchers, but got away," he said, and started counting his arguments on his fingers. "You held up your wand, but you gripped it tight, so that we couldn't Disarm you. And when I asked you to drop it, you put a foot on it too. You know about the Taboo on the Dark Lord's name. And you're heading north, when everyone in their right mind is trying to get to the south," he finished, holding up all five fingers in an almost smug way.

"Good reasoning," grinned Tamora, bowing her head slightly. "But you're wrong. I'm no more Order of the Phoenix than you are, boys, sorry."

"Then why are you running?" asked Jonathan. "Come on, we could use a good story."

"I'm here because of a man," said Tamora, scratching her wrist just above her watch. "My man," she added, rolling her eyes with a defeated smile as Jonathan put his chin in his palm, getting ready for a nice, long tale. "He's the one in trouble, and he's the one who has to get to Helmsdale."

"Helmsdale?" gasped Jonathan, before looking at Finn with a laugh.

"What? Are you heading that way too?" asked Tamora.

"Yes," nodded Finn. "We are looking for my father, because we've heard that he is at the safehouse there. So you are welcome to join us," he smiled. "We could be there by the end of the week."

"Thanks," said Tamora, cuddling her cup in her hands. "But the end of the week? I thought we were much further down south."

"Guys!" whispered Jonathan, grabbing Tamora's arm, as for the second time that night, someone breached their protective enchantments. Not that they needed any warning, as one by one six or seven wands lit up with an eerie blue light around them.

"Please, don't run," cried a Snatcher, clearly the one in charge, stepping closer to them with an unpleasantly smug grin on his face. "You'll only 'urt yourselves."

He was probably right about that, but without a moment of hesitation, Finn whispered "Eyes!" to Jonathan, before turning to Tamora to cover hers as best as he could with one hand, and conjuring a painfully bright light around their camp, blinding the Snatchers to give themselves a chance. The light didn't even really begin to fade when the first curses started to fly their way, but Finn let go of Tamora and Stunned the Snatcher standing the closest to them, while Jonathan took care of a second one.

"Go," cried Finn, as turned towards the next Snatcher, a huge man with wolfish features and almost as much hair as the one whose wand Jonathan took, but when he missed, he decided to run too.

It was too late to think about how much easier it could have been to go in the other direction, so Jonathan pressed his lips together and started scurrying from one tree to the next downhill, concentrating very hard not to fall. He could hear Tamora do the same not far from him, and Finn too, somewhat behind them, but still well ahead of the Snatchers.

They almost reached the bottom, when a Blasting Curse hit the tree between him and Tamora. He could steady himself, but Tamora tripped with a yelp and rolled on towards the valley until she crushed into a trunk. Yet, before Jonathan could get to her, she was back on her feet, screaming a first, a second then a third curse uphill.

"Oi!" cried the leader, taking shelter behind a Shield Charm. "Stop that, love, or you'll be very sorry for it later!"

As Jonathan grabbed her arm to lead her on, Tamora wiped some blood from the nasty cut above her eyebrow irritatedly and started backing off, but Finn took the chance and sent a few more curses towards the Snatchers. He couldn't hit any of them, as they were already in defence against Tamora's attack, but he managed to buy some time for the others to finally reach the valley and cover him while he descended after them.

None of them saw the wolfish Snatcher coming. At some point he must have left his company to take a different way down the hill, for he attacked from sideways, just as Finn left the last of the trees. He didn't even care to use magic, just tackled Finn to the ground, holding him down firmly with fingers that seemed to end in claws.

"Go! Just go!" shouted Finn, trying to free himself from the Snatcher's grip without any success, while both Jonathan and Tamora stood there, frozen.

"Take one more step and your friend'll pay the price," yelled the leader, as finally they got to their senses and started backing away. "'Ave you ever seen a man being mauled by a werewolf?" he added, walking down the rest of the hill with his men. "Ain't pretty, I 'ave to tell you."

"Don't listen to him, just go," cried Finn, still struggling, even though he was no match to the strenght of the werewolf. But he was all the distraction the Snatchers needed. With a loud crack, three of them Apparated behind Jonathan and Tamora, two pulling him down to the floor and one grabbing her by the arms.

"Tie 'em up to that tree. We'll make camp 'ere tonight," ordered the leader, Summoning their wands and pocketing them. "'Im too, Greyback" he nodded towards the werewolf, who hauled Finn up from the ground with an indignant grunt and dragged him to be put with the others.

They took their time with the ropes, leaving no hope of escape for the prisoners, but the ones pulling the knots too tight weren't the worst by far. The werewolf, Greyback was sitting on a fallen tree, never taking his hungry eyes off them, and a young man with a freshly scorched face stood nearby, watching Tamora with open hostility.

"All right, that's enough. You're not wrapping 'em for Christmas," said the leader, as he finished his cigarette. The tall one, standing on Jonathan's side, gave the ropes a hard final tug, before stepping back and pulling a small black book from his pocket.

"Let's start with you, Godric," smiled the leader, walking closer to Finn. "What's your name?"

"Godric," answered Finn with a straight face.

The leader gave a sharp bark of a laugh, before slightly bending down with hands on his thighs to Finn. "'Ere's the sad truth," he said with a sigh. "Keeping your name from us won't do you any good. But see that little book, my good friend, Bart's clinging to? If you're in it, with a price on your 'ead, we'll make sure you live to see the morning."

Jonathan could feel Finn tensing against their ropes, and for a moment he was absolutely sure his friend would kick the Snatcher, tied feet or not. He tried really hard not to think about what would happen to him after that.

But the kick never came. "Finn Holland," he said instead.

There was a heavy silence, while Bart shuffled the pages. "There, Finn Holland," he cried, tapping a finger on it triumphantly. "Half-blood. Auror in training. Wanted for liberating a Mudblood from the custody of the Ministry of Magic," he read on. "Twenty-two galleons and seven sickles, alive."

One of the Snatchers cheered, hearing the sum, and the leader nodded with a grin too. "Congratulations, Finn, you'll definitely live to see the morning," he said, patting him on the shoulder, then moving on towards Jonathan and Tamora. "So, which one of you is the Mudblood?" he asked, looking at them curiously.

"It's me," said Jonathan, raising his chin slightly.

"Good," nodded the leader, not taking the effort to get their eyes on level. "Name?"

"Jonathan Miller."

"I've got him," said Bart, finding him right on the next page. "Jonathan Miller. Mudblood. Five galleons and a knut, alive."

"What?" cried one of the Snatchers, hurrying closer to Bart to get a look at his book. "No extra? He's a runaway!"

Jonathan couldn't help fidgeting, as even the leader turned his back on them and went to check it. "What 'ave I told you about true names and prices on your 'ead?" he asked with a frown, returning to them with the list in his hand.

"He is who he says he is," said Tamora in a voice almost perfectly cool. "Your book must be wrong," she added, as the Snatchers all looked at her.

"Thank you. I'm sure it must be," said the leader, mockingly bowing his head and taking a step towards her. "And your are...?" he asked, and put a knee down on the ground close to her.

It took her a second to get back her air of bravery. "Tamora Malory."

The leader started turning the pages, slowly tracing the line of names on them, and Jonathan could feel Tamora breathing faster as he was getting closer to the last. "Sorry, love. You're not in 'ere," he said, looking up at her with raised eyebrows, as he reached the end of the book.

Only Greyback went on picking his teeth as if nothing happened. Some of the Snatchers started shifting from one leg to the other, one or two smiled, and the one with the scorched face tightened his grip on his wand.

"Check again," whispered Tamora, panic slowly seeping into her voice.

"I can check again and again until dawn breaks, but you're not in 'ere," smiled the leader, snapping the book closed and putting it into his pocket.

"Then you should check it with your bosses," snapped Finn, trying to lean forward to make eye-contact. "Your list could be missing more than one update."

"Look who's got 'er own knight in shining armour!" laughed the leader, and some of his men snickered too, before he turned back to Tamora. "But Godric's right. On the list or not, you could still be precious," he smiled, licking a thumb and wiping away some dried blood from her face with it.

She didn't move her head, and didn't even flinch, but as the leader stood up and turned his back on them, Jonathan could feel her shudder with a sigh, could feel an angry lump forming in his throat. They should have made sure that at least she got away.

"Is that all?" gasped the Snatcher with the scorch, stepping closer to the leader as if he was ready to fight him.

"Yes," he nodded. "You 'ave a problem with that?" he asked not even gripping his wand any tighter.

At least two of the company risked an expectant glance towards their rebelling friend, and Bart scratched his face too, looking at Tamora, who pulled her knees up to her chest with fear still glistening in her eyes.

"No," said the young man, taking a step back and dropping his gaze.

"Good. Let's settle for the night then," smiled the leader, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Bart, you take the first watch," he jerked his head towards the prisoners, before walking on.

One by one all the Snatchers left to make camp, until only Bart stayed with them. Before taking a seat, he walked up to them and gave the ropes a final check.

"Let me go," breathed Tamora, as he got close enough.

"I can't," he said, shaking his head. "Stay put. He can't wait for you to try something funny."

It must have been the trick of the shadows, as one of the Snatchers started the fire at the middle of the clearing, but for a moment Jonathan could have sworn he saw some compassion crossing his face, before he turned his back on them to walk and take the seat on the fallen tree.

For an hour or so, nothing happened. They tried to loosen their ropes, but it was impossible to do anything about them without Bart noticing it, so they gave up on it.

"They will have to move us," whispered Finn, as there was an ungodly roar of laughter coming from the the camp and Bart turned to see what it was all about. "We'll try something then."

It wasn't much, but coming up with a perfect plan sounded like a good enough distraction from the Snatchers and especially their fire. It's been too long since the last time Jonathan has felt comfortably warm, so he closed his eyes, shut out the smell of wood smoke and cooking food, and started to think. His hands were bound in front of him, giving him a chance to get a wand. If he acted as soon as the Snatchers loosened the rope tying to the tree, and could get one from them–

It was Finn's deep intake of breath that woke him from his thoughts, and it took him a few seconds to realise why he could feel Tamora tense beside him.

Finishing their supper, the Snatchers started to abandon their fire, some setting up tents and some spreading out sleeping bags, but one of them walked away from the group, heading towards the prisoners. Even with the fire behind his back, it was easy to guess who it was.

As soon as he saw him coming, Bart got up from his seat too, tentatively stepping between him and the prisoners.

"Relax, he knows," said Scarface, stopping by him. "He sent me to take it from here."

Jonathan had to stretch his neck to get a glimpse of the leader busying himself with his tent, holding it upright with his wand while driving its pegs into the ground with the heel of his boot.

"Take my word for it, or run and ask him, I don't care," sighed Scarface, as Bart turned and looked at the prisoners, then back at the camp, clearly not trusting him more than they did.

Watching Bart give them a final look and strut away was bad enough, but then he reached the camp and the leader. They couldn't hear a word from it, but the conversation was dishearteningly short, and ended in Bart leaving the leader and his half-made tent behind with a frown and sitting by the fire to have his supper.

"See?" yelled Scarface, lifting his arms, before walking to the fallen tree and sitting on it, taking his wand from his pocket. He must have seen what Jonathan could feel, that Tamora went rigid with fear, but he gave no sign of enjoying it. And yet they all felt it, as he just sat there, keeping his cold basilisk eyes on them.

Just as Jonathan started to feel like he could no longer sit and wait for something terrible to happen, Tamora drew a deeper breath beside him. He tried to be very stealthy about it, but as soon as he started looking for the source of her excitement, Scarface lifted his head too, first studying them with squinting eyes, then turning towards the camp in alert to see who's coming.

"Everything all right up 'ere?" asked the leader as he stopped halfway between the prisoners and the fallen tree.

"Yeah," nodded Scarface, looking up at him. It was hard to tell what angered him more, that he kept him from taking his revenge on Tamora, or the fact that after doing so, he dared to turn his back on him, even when he had a wand in hand he did not.

"You look cold, love" said the leader, kneeling beside Tamora like he did before, touching her face with the back of his hand, and Jonathan could feel his stomach turn, when caught the term "lesser of two evils" running through his mind.

"Leave her alone!" he snarled, louder than he meant to.

The leader looked at him with a chuckle, and turned back to her with raised eyebrows. "Is that what you want? To be left alone?" he asked, taking his hand from her face and putting it on her knee.

She said no, but it was easier to hear the ropes around her as she shook her head with it.

A threat and a curse were both on the tip of Jonathan's tounge, but before he could spit either of it out, he felt a sharp nudge in his side, coming from Finn's elbow, that made him snap his head towards him. But this of course made both Scarface and the leader notice them too.

"Something you've got to say, Godric?" he asked, turning from Tamora and eyeing them with a puzzled smile.

Finn pressed his lips together hard, looking at him, then at Scarface, and finally at Jonathan and Tamora. "Her decision," he said, clearing his throat "And we've known her for only an hour," he added.

It was the foulest thing Jonathan has ever heard him speak, and for a moment he felt like he could easily tear his ropes with the rage rising in his chest. But then he saw the leader's hand wandering down on Tamora's leg and suddenly realised what Finn was playing at.

"Is that so?" mused the leader, and Jonathan had to force himself to tear his gaze away from his hand and look at her face instead. He desperately wanted to say something to her, to tell her to be brave and use the wand hidden in her boot well, but of course he did not dare to speak a word.

"I'm sorry," said Finn, and the way Tamora nodded towards him made Jonathan's heart skip a beat. He could still feel how tense she was, but there was no longer panic in her eyes, and he refused to believe it wasn't because she was thinking along the same lines as Finn did.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," grinned the leader. "I'll make sure she likes it," he said, lifting his hand to caress her face, before he drew his wand to free her from the main rope tying her to the tree and grabbing her arm to help her to her feet.

Even with the plan and their chance of escape in mind, it was hard to watch them walk away, and Jonathan could feel a shiver running through him that had nothing to do with the cold of the night.

"She'll be all right," whispered Finn, not taking his eyes off her either, not even when she and the leader finally reached the camp and disappeared in his tent.

Hearing that, Scarface looked at them with his basilisk eyes and laughed in a way that made their skin crawl. But he didn't know about the wand. And he didn't know her.

It wasn't a long walk or a tricky terrain, but Tamora felt like the hand on her arm was the only thing that kept her up and going. She only wished they could stop waltzing through the camp and get into the tent before the last of her strenght left her, because she feared her knees might give way any second.

She saw it coming and in the back of her mind she even tried to get ready for it, but when the flap of the tent closed behind them and he turned her around to kiss her hard, she crashed into him with a yelp like a rag doll.

"Fuck," she breathed, as he finally let go of her lips. "I thought you'd let him get me!" she whispered in an unnaturally high voice, with eyes still closed. She tried to look for some support, but with her hands still tied before her, she had to settle for the front of his coat and cling to it for dear life.

"You know I would ne'er do that," chuckled Scabior. He was clearly very pleased with himself and his sick game, but when he got no answer from her, he took her face in her hand and lifted it to make her look at him. "But make sure it ends here," he said, caressing her cheeck.

She could only nod and grab his coat tighter. He was right, Octavian hated her from day one, but she never thought he'd dare to act on it too, and now that he did, it scared the hell out of her.

"Take care of him, before he turns the Garrets against me as well," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and she knew it was an order.

"I will," she smiled weakly. "But how about you take care of me first?" she turned to kiss the base of his thumb seductively.

They had so much to discuss, like the prisoners heading towards Helmsdale, the mahogany wand that Henning Turner would surely buy back from them at any price they had the cheeck to set, and of course she had to come up with a plan to get rid of Octavian too, but she didn't feel like scheming while she was still shaking inside. Anyway, she had worked so hard all night, and deserved some time and fun before she had to get clever again.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you for reading. Please, leave a note if you liked it, because as you can see, there's been only three people before you.<br>I would also like to thank my friends, Gitta, Anna (Druszám!) and Sam for all their help and support with this story._

_Also, there's a lot more Scabior in the following chapters. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Six months before._

It was one of those hatefully long nights, with all the tables taken by customers who decided to stay for hours over the same bottle of cheap Butterbeer, minimizing the chances of a good tip, but making sure there would be no early closing either, so as soon as the clock struck eleven and Madam Scrooge decided to leave for her bed upstairs, Tamora dragged a stool behind the counter and perched herself on it.

Sadly enough, she didn't even have time to decide if she wanted to read her book, or do the crosswords in the Prophet, before the door opened for a newcomer. She slipped off the stool without much haste or enthusiasm, and put only the quarter of a smile on as the wizard took a seat.

"What can I get for you?" she asked, walking up to him.

"Whatever's the strongest," he said with a sigh, sweeping back his long hair from his face, and he looked like he could use it, if not exactly afford it. He must have sensed her hesitation, but didn't take it to the heart, only leaned back slightly to rummage in his pocket and put a handful of coins on the counter.

"Shall I leave the bottle?" she raised her brows, pouring him the first shot.

"You read me, love," he smiled, reaching for the glass and emptying it in one go. It was always good fun to see men trying to impress her with their drinking skills, so she cocked her head and watched him pour and devour a second round. "Got anything to eat?" he asked, clearing his throat, before going on for the third.

He looked like he needed food even more than drink. And a good night's sleep. And a long bath. And–

"There's some stew left," she nodded, cutting her own train of thoughts, and leaving for the kitchen in the back.

It wasn't much, but luckily it was still warm enough to be served without a fuss, so she ladled all of it out of the pot and returned to him, before walking on towards the tables to give him some privacy by collecting empty glasses from the other customers. There weren't too many, but at least the witches at the table in the corner noticed it was time for them to say good night and leave.

By the time the man finished his stew and returned to finishing his drink, two more tables cleared, leaving only four more people in the room; a wizard playing chess against himself and three other regulars, deep in some very secret conversation.

"Anything else?" she asked, taking his empty bowl.

"Nah, I'm fine," he shook his head, not bothering with the glass any more, but taking a sip from the bottle. And almost spilling some of it, when there was a loud crash, as the lonely wizard flipped his own chess board with an angry yell, sending pieces flying all over the room.

"Sorry! Sorry about that!" he cried before Tamora or the wizards at the neighbouring table could even make a step towards him, swishing his wand and re-collecting the pieces. "For... for your trouble," he coughed, putting a coin on his table and leaving the room as fast as he could.

"We should go too," said one of the wizards, cleaning the front of his shirt with his wand while his friends quickly finished their drinks. "See you tomorrow," he smiled at Tamora on their way out, putting their payment on the counter for her.

"Good night," she smiled, pocketing the money, before walking to the tables to clean up.

With her wand she could have finished in a blink of an eye, and it could have been even more easier to yell for Zizzie and let her do it, but she had no wand and Madam Scrooge didn't want the elf to be seen by customers, so she collected the glasses and mopped up the spilled drinks first from the tables, then from the floor herself. She could feel the eyes of the last customer on her, but she finished the floor before getting up and turning back to him.

"If there's nothing else I can get for you, I'd like to close," she said, gathering her tray with the glasses.

"A room for the night," he said, still holding on to his now empty bottle.

"Of course," she smiled politely, if not too keenly. "I'll lock up then," she added, reaching for the keys and walking to the door. If he didn't want to leave, she didn't want to let anyone else in. Not that anyone was on the street, threatening to come in for a last minute drink. These days even Diagon Alley became deserted after dark, and they were only a side-street to them.

"Follow me," she nodded, heading towards the stairs and waiting for him at the bottom. She couldn't tell if it was the drink or just a bit too much of manly swagger, but decided not to worry about it, and slowly led him upstairs. "There you go," she opened the first room on the left for him. It wasn't big, but it was clean and had a good bed. She was quite sure he didn't want or need anything more.

He walked in as she stepped away from the door, taking off his coat and tossing it on the armchair beside the window with a content nod.

"Bathroom's on the end of the corridor, and that's for the elf, if you want something cleaned," she motioned towards a basket in the corner as she walked around, lighting a few candles and the fireplace for him.

"Is there a chance you could wake me at 'alf past six?" he asked, standing beside the window and admiring the view on the roof of the neighbouring house.

"Half past six," she nodded. "Good night then," she said, heading towards the door.

"Sweet dreams," he said, dropping himself on the edge of the bed to take off his boots and giving Tamora a smile that made her regret that she let him get this drunk. He could have helped her having a good night and some very sweet dreams.

But at least she didn't stay up until very late, and when she woke early in the morning, the bed let go of her without much fight. Still, some coffee would have been nice, so when she couldn't find any in the kitchen, she went to look for Zizzie, and got even angrier when she found her in the laundry room, elbow deep in the soapy water.

"Are those mine?" she frowned, stepping closer and almost frightening the elf off her stool.

"Yes, miss," squeaked Zizzie, balancing herself with great difficulty.

"And those?" asked Tamora, pointing at a pile of clothes still dry and crumpled.

"From the guest in room three, miss," said the elf with a heavy gulp.

"Start with those and be quick about it," sighed Tamora, walking back to the kitchen. She could have told Zizzie for the hundredth time that the requests of customers always came first, but that would have ended in the elf beating herself up with a bar of soap or a wet pair of jeans, so she decided not to say a word about it. Instead, she walked back to the kitchen to make some coffee and have a look at the Prophet.

Sometimes she wondered if it was worth the paper it was printed on, and concentrated on the crosswords or the astrology section, but today she couldn't tear her eyes from the article on the front page.

Above a picture of the prison itself, large black letters screamed at her about a general pardon for the convicts at Azkaban. According to the Prophet, the New Ministry of Magic saw fit to re-evaluate the verdicts of the old regime, and released people who could no longer be considered a threat. After that it went on and on about the many misconceptions and injustices in those verdicts, before it concluded in announcing that the Ministry also decided to employ these people, giving them a chance of reintegration into society.

"Zizzie is finished, miss," appeared the elf in the kitchen with a pop. "Shall Zizzie return the clothes, or shall she make miss breakfast first?" she chirped.

"What?" asked Tamora, still absorbed in her thoughts about the Prophet.

"Shall Zizzie return the-"

"Just leave them," said Tamora. It wasn't even six o'clock and she didn't want the elf to wake him with her clumsiness. "Get the breakfast going".

It was hard to close the Prophet and put it away, but by the time she finished eating and left to wake the guest, she made herself get over it.

"Good morning," she said, knocking on the door, but there was no answer from inside. "Morning," she repeated, this time a bit more firmly. When there was not a sound even after her third knock, she transferred all his clothes on one arm and reached for the keychain in her pocket.

"Good morning?" she whispered, poking her head through the opening door.

He was still in the bed, lying on his stomach, with a leg hanging from it and tangled in the sheets, but she could tell he was alive, and it was all she was hoping for. She would have hated to find another dead body.

She could feel the urge to creep closer and get a proper look, but as she was about to put his clothes down on the armchair next to his coat, she found something even more tempting. Under some coins and a pack of cigarettes, lay a piece of parchment. Parts of it were typed and parts were hand-written, like most Ministry papers. It ordered his release from Azkaban, and also the return of his wand.

It was almost identical to her release, from two years ago.

Except she never got her wand back.

Glancing towards the bed and making sure he was still asleep, Tamora bent closer to armchair to get a better look. Touching the paper lightly, she could tell it had the usual basic spells on it. Nothing she didn't forge a thousand times before. Her plan was only beginning to form, but she could already feel a grin tugging the corner of her mouth. Dumping his clothes in the armchair, she fluffed her hair a bit and walked closer to the bed, putting a hand on his arm.

"Morning," she whispered, and screamed when his hand lashed out to grab her just above the elbow. "It's me, it's me, sorry, I'm sorry," she winced, putting one knee on the bed to keep her balance.

"Damn, girl," he let go of her with a tired sigh. "That's not 'ow you wake a man."

"Sorry," she said again, rubbing her arm and getting off the bed, back on her feet. "Your clothes are there, and there's breakfast downstairs if you want some," she walked to the door. She could have told him that she knew perfectly well how to wake naked a man, but she had to move fast to get her plan going.

oOo

She still had some supplies back from the old days, hidden at the bottom of her trunk, so writing her new release papers wasn't a big deal. Borrowing Madam Scrooge's wand for a few minutes and adding the proper spells wasn't too complicated either. The fight she had to have to get an extra day-off, and navigating to the Ministry through Muggle London in time were far more challenging, so when she finally got there, she felt like she could slump on the floor next to the wall like some of the others already in the queue and not move an inch more.

"Single line along the wall, please!" shouted a Ministry official, walking up and down the corridor, leading to the Main Hall. Tamora didn't envy him for his job, but stepped closer to the wall.

There was a queue reserved for the freshly pardoned, and she was happy to see so many security witches and wizards keeping their eyes on them. Most of the people on her side of the barrier looked like they should have been kept locked up for the rest of their lives, but she couldn't feel bad about the Ministry's sudden rush of leniency. And who knew, maybe some of them were just in the wrong place at the wrong time like her.

Or maybe not, she couldn't care less, not with all the worries that started seeping into her mind after two hours of standing on the same spot. Gone were the thrill of excitement and adventure, and when in the distance she saw the man, Scabior being questioned, searched, and then lead away, for the first time she felt like she should have stayed away and carry on with her life as a Squib, so she pulled her hood deeper down before her face and tried harder to keep it together.

It was well into the afternoon when she finally got past the first security check, and was lead into Room 378, where they had five tables set up waiting for them, so she walked to the only free one with shaking knees.

"Good afternoon," she nodded, putting her papers before the elderly wizard sitting behind it. He didn't look too intimidating, but the two guards on each side of his chair made up for that.

"Good afternoon," he nodded back, taking the papers and giving them a quick scan. "Tamora Malory?" he asked, adjusting his spectacles and looking up at her in a way that made her feel like she was just caught cheating during her O.W.L.s on Herbology. It was perfectly absurd. She never ever got caught cheating. And it wasn't the time for thinking about cheating at tests anyway.

"Yes," she said in a small voice as he turned to his own list.

"M-a-l-o-r-y?" he adjusted his spectacles again as he reached the last page and failed to find her name on.

"Yes," she whispered. She tried very hard not to look up at the guards standing behind him, but she could not resist it, catching the eye of the witch on his right. She had a haughty look about her, and in her hand, she had a wand ready.

The wizard took his time reading and re-reading her papers, and he even lifted it up once to let the light of the candles and torches go through them. Tamora knew he'd find them perfect, but when he nearly touched them to his nose, she could almost feel her fingernails breaking the skin on her palm.

"Just a second," said the wizard, and Tamora nodded obediently, even though he probably was speaking only to the guards and not to her, as he stood up and walked to the back of the room, where more people with drawn wands were waiting. "Sorry, Albert, but there's another," he stepped to one of them, a tall man with a face like a bloodhound.

When she came up with the story back in her room, it sounded perfectly believable, but now that this Albert was reading her papers, suddenly she felt like it was the stupidest thing she ever had the misfortune of thinking of. This man wouldn't ask for her forgiveness and let her walk away if she told them it was their mistake to send her new papers, making her believe she was part of all this. He'd probably take her back to Azkaban personally.

"Murder," he said slowly, putting a finger on her registration number at the top of the page. "Of a Muggle?" he added as he got to the end of the runes and numbers.

"Yes," she croaked, wondering if telling the whole story would make things better or worse this time. It didn't help her much during her trial.

All he gave her was a curt nod before putting down her papers, writing something on them and adding his signature. "Put her on the list," he said to the other wizard, straightening his jacket with a single tug and walking back to the others.

"Right away," said the old man, but all Tamora could hear was her own voice screaming in her head. She did it!

oOo

When Scabior finally got out of the Ministry, he walked into the nearest park and took a seat on one of the benches, burying his face in his hands. He could feel a scream building up in his throat, which he knew was the grown up male equivalent of crying his eyes out, but couldn't tell where it was coming from. Probably had to do with the Dementors. He truly hoped it would pass soon.

Lifting his head, he looked around and saw trees. Sweet smelling, green trees, with leaves dancing. He never knew they could be this pretty.

He even toyed with the idea of sleeping here, on the bench, to get as much fresh air as his lungs could take, but then he remembered that the last time he had anything to eat, was in the morning. Reaching into his pocket, he quickly counted the coins he had. He was happy he left some money with his clothes when he was taken to Azkaban, because he would have hated to share whatever the Ministry had to offer for the likes of him before they got their first pay-checks.

He was all right for a few more days, even if he had a decent meal every once in a while, and the Ministry promised work soon, so he decided to treat himself to another dinner, a good bed at last night's inn, and maybe some company too, if he managed to woo the barmaid. She looked wooable enough.

It sounded tempting, even against a night of fresh air and watching the stars, so he got off his bench and started walking back towards Diagon Alley, breathing deeply and enjoying the sight and sound of other people around him.

The shouting could be heard from the other end of the street, but Scabior walked on curiously, watching them from the shadows. The sun has only started to set, but the street was so narrow it turned dark right away, and with so few streetlamps, it wasn't hard to keep out of their sight. And they were too absorbed in their row anyway.

"I owe you nothing," stated the middle aged witch with a wild mane of silvery white hair, guarding the door with her body, wand in hand. "I took you in, when nobody else would have touched a dirty little Squib like you. I put a roof over your head and I have fed you, you should be thankful."

"I'd say I've been thankful enough," shrugged the barmaid, stepping away from a small trunk that most likely held all her earthly possessions. There were items of clothing poking out from under the lid here and there, as if they were just thrown inside in a hurry. "I've kept my eyes turned away from your business and my mouth shut tight about it, haven't I, _mistress?_" she said in a voice so low it was getting difficult to hear.

It was also hard to tell if the older witch turned pale with anger or with fright, but when she looked around and saw Scabior, she put on a forced smile and straightened her shoulders. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked in a voice so cheerful it must have strained a muscle. "We're open, have our own Firewhiskey, a nice pot of stew on the stove, and rooms clean and comfy if you like."

"That's very kind, ma'am," nodded Scabior pleasantly, taking a step towards the light, "But I'm 'ere for your girl."

Even if nothing else came out of it, their faces were worth his effort. The crone's face soured as if she just looked under a pile of gold and found what came out of the dragon guarding it, and the maid gave him a grin that said she was willing to kiss him wherever he pleased, so he smiled back at her and walked up to them.

"'Ello, beautiful," he offered the girl his arm, pulling her close when she took it without missing a beat.

The witch eyed them suspiciously for a moment, but then she must have thought it didn't make much difference if they really knew each other, or if the girl was just jumping on the first knight in shining armour that came her way. "Wait here," she spat, turning on her heels and shutting the door behind herself with a loud bang.

"Thanks," whispered the girl, giving his arm a squeeze. "I owe you a drink."

"Yes, I think you do," he nodded, suddenly feeling very thirsty indeed.

"There," said the witch, not even stepping back out on the street, just throwing a handful of coins on the cobblestones. "Good luck finding a new place!" she laughed bitterly, before closing the door again.

"I'll miss you too!" huffed the girl, letting go of Scabior to collect her money.

As he watched her bending for coin after coin, he could feel his hand reaching for his wand on its own accord, and his chest expanding with a sigh of relief as he touched it through the fabric of his jacket. He would have hated to live like this, without magic. Two more months in Azkaban would have been bad enough, but not getting his wand back for another three years... Just thinking of it made his skin crawl.

"Need an 'and with that?" he asked, as she marched on to her trunk and kneeled before it.

"No, thanks," she shook her head, quickly pushing all her stuff inside and closing the lid properly. "It's self-folding," she added, getting up and dusting her knees as the spells in the fittings started to work and shrinked the whole thing until it was no bigger than a Ministry official's briefcase. "So," she said cheerfully, grabbing the handle when it was ready, lifting her other hand towards him with a playful smile, "Drinks?"

"Drinks," he took it, hoping her fingers were not always this damn cold.

They remained cold even after an hour at the bar and then in bed, but he only pinned them above her head when he had enough of her on top. Not that he didn't enjoy watching her riding him like there was no tomorrow, but he wanted to give her something to remember him by, so when she finished getting him ready again, he took her by the waist and put her on her back, pushing her wrists into the pillow with one hand.

"My turn," he whispered, wiping her hair out of her face before lowering his head and kissing her long and hard on the lips, taking the last of her remaining breath away and moving downwards to her throat.

"Sorry, love," he chuckled, giving her one last bite before lifting his head and feeling his own jaw when she tensed under him and tried to nudge his head away with her chin. He was quick with the shower and even quicker with the razor upon his release from Azkaban, and while he enjoyed soaking in the warm water last night, he didn't care much about shaving again. "Sorry," he crooned, caressing her shoulder and neck soothingly, even though he wanted nothing more than to go back and mark them. They were so smooth, so white, so–

"What's this?" he asked, rubbing his thumb against her skin to reveal more of it.

"Nothing," she said, raising her shoulder closer to her jaw to cover it, but she was way too late. He saw the runes and numbers she tried to hide under the paint, and it made him smile.

"You're not a Squib. You've been to Azkaban," he nodded slowly, searching her face, as he let go of her hands and brought his fingers down on her arm until he reached the other, truly unmarked side of her neck. "Naughty girl," he whispered with a smile.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said in a voice she must have thought firm, bringing her arms down in front of her chest before putting her cold hands on his shoulders. "Just fuck me, will you?" she added, burying her hands in his hair.

"Your wish is my command, love," he said, giving her a feral grin before claiming her mouth once again.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading! Please, leave a note if you liked it :)<em>


	3. Chapter 3

It was too dark to even guess the time, but it was definitely well before dawn, which meant they couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours when someone knocked on their door. Tamora wanted to shout at them to go away, but her head was too heavy, so she just whispered it into Scabior's neck, hoping it would act like a new, wandless spell.

"Ministry of Magic, open the door," came a man's stern voice, accompanied by another set of knocks, making her eyes snap open and her whole body tense.

"Damn," grunted Scabior, moving his head slightly. "I'm coming!" he raised his voice, rubbing his face with his free hand. "It's all right. Just let me get up," he whispered to Tamora, but he also had to push her slightly to make her move off his shoulder.

"No, wait," she breathed, trying to free herself from the sheets.

"It's all right," he hushed her, but grabbed his wand from the bedside before walking to the chair beside the fire.

Finding his pants in their pile of clothes and putting them on wasn't easy in the dark, but jumping from deep sleep to sheer panic made Tamora slow too. By the time she managed to get her wand from between the matress and the bedframe, where she hid it last night when he wasn't looking, he was already at the door, so she could do nothing, but cover up and hope the people at the door didn't see her jerking her hand away from under the pillow.

"Yes?" asked Scabior, keeping his wand hand out of sight and his foot ready to stop the door if they wanted to push it in. Tamora wondered if he'd be able to do that without boots on, and tried not to fidget with her wand under the covers. So far the element of surprise had been working against her, but she was keen on changing that.

"Nicholas Scabior?" asked one of the wizards standing in front of the door. It was hard to tell how many of them were there, but Tamora could see at least two wands with lights at their tips.

"Yes," nodded Scabior, not moving the door at all.

There was a rustling of papers, before the man cleared his throat and started reading. "Nicholas Scabior, you are hereby summoned by the Ministry of Magic," he articulated carefully, making it sound like a sentence. "The time is 4:47 a.m., you have fifteen minutes to use the Portkey attached. Should you fail to comply with these orders, you'll be held responsible. Do you understand?" he finished, rolling up the summons and offering it to Scabior.

"Yep," he nodded, taking the scroll reluctantly. "Is that all?" he asked, taking half a step back to be able to close the door.

"Not quite," said the wizard, and before he even drew breath for it, Tamora knew what was coming, and could feel a knot forming in her stomach. "We are Tracing another individual in here. Tamora Malory?"

For a moment Scabior did not move, but then he looked at her over his shoulder, with a face perfectly unreadable in the dark and under just a slice of wandlight.

Trying to concentrate on the fact that this wasn't going to be an arrest after all, Tamora nodded to him and slipped off the bed, putting the covers around herself as if it they were her best royal cape, hiding her wand in its folds.

"It's me," she said, stepping beside Scabior at the door. He moved back slightly, but stayed close.

"Right. Tamora Malory, you are hereby summoned by the Ministry of Magic," said the Ministry wizard, taking her summons in hand. "The time is 4:49 a.m., you have fifteen minutes to use the Portkey attached. Should you fail to comply with these orders, you'll be held responsible. Do you understand?" he gave her the exact same speech, and probably did the exact same little flick of hand to roll up her parchment too.

"Yes," she reached for it, taking care not to touch the wax seal that acted as Portkey attached to it and sending herself to the Ministry before time and in this state of undress.

"Then good day to you," nodded the wizard, before he took a step back and turned on his heel to Disapparate, closely followed by his colleague.

"And to you too," said Scabior, shutting the door and bolting it too. "So," he smiled, putting his back against it and looking down at Tamora.

"So," she looked back at him, with her fingers tightening around her wand.

"I like a girl with secrets and surprises," he said in a low voice, with eyes lingering on her tattoo. "But you are really full of 'em, love," he added, raising an eyebrow.

When Tamora cocked her head, smiling at him, and he returned the smile, she knew she could easily flirt her way out of the situation, but she wanted to give him something that would put an end to his curiosity. It was the least she could do after being so stupid and take him of all people to bed.

"I made a deal with the Ministry, like you," she said, trying to keep her eyes locked with his, concentrating on the fact that technically it wasn't even a lie. "And now I owe them, like you," she moved her scroll between her fingers slightly.

"Just don't tell anyone you've joined us freely," he whispered, leaning closer with a grin. "People might think you're mad."

oOo

When they arrived to the Ministry and they were sent to a large auditorium to wait, it felt a bit like being back to Hogwarts again. There were a few people sitting in the first rows, eager for whatever they were about to be told, even in this ungodly hour; up in the back of the room almost all the seats were taken by those who didn't want to be seen by whoever was going to do the talking; and between them, there were those who wanted to be left alone, sitting as far from everyone else as possible.

In around the fourth row, Scabior saw a wizard he vaguely remembered from the boat that took them to shore from Azkaban, but when Tamora walked past him on the stairs, he didn't stop her. He knew he'd have to have friends later, but for now, there was a lady in need of him.

It wasn't hard to see what she was playing at in this room full of men of all different ages and sizes, but with the same cruel air hanging around them. It was flattering to say the least, so when Tamora guided them to an empty row, he followed and took the seat beside her with a content smile. She was lucky he was in the right place at the right time last night.

Whatever the Ministry wanted with them, they took their time.

After an hour of waiting, while more and more people kept coming and taking up seats, Scabior could feel a dull headache forming behind his eyes, so he decided to put his head back against the railing separating them from the row behind and close them for a few minutes.

He was sure he didn't fall asleep, because he could still hear the others talking in low voices and could feel Tamora fidgeting beside him all the while, but when she touched his arm and he looked up, the room was almost full, and there were people putting up new chairs with high backs and chains attached to their sturdy arms and feet in the middle of the hall.

"Trials?" asked Tamora in a whisper, watching them from the edge of her seat.

"Probably," he cleared his throat, sitting up straight, watching the chairs being secured to the floor. His headache was gone, but his chest was beginning to feel tight with worry.

When all seven chairs were finished, one of the Ministry wizards left the room, while the others joined their colleagues standing in front of and on the stairs leading to the seats, keeping their wands in hand.

"Someone's trying very hard to intimidate us, boys," laughed a man sitting right behind them.

"Too bad they are succeeding," added Scabior, leaning closer to Tamora with a wry smile. After being dragged here before the break of dawn, and with their wands taken from them at the door, all they needed, were more armed men to make them feel even less comfortable. "Want me to 'old your 'and?" he asked jokingly.

She chuckled nervously, crossing her arms tighter in front of her chest when the doors opened again, and a group of Ministry officials and guards walked in.

"Good morning," stepped up one of them, a shortish blond man with a gravelly voice that caused the whole audience to fall silent at once. "My name is Edward Yaxley. I am the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department you will be working for in exchange for your parole."

There was some shuffling and whispering in the rows, as some of the people seemed to know him, but it settled quickly enough as the doors opened again and a group of witches and wizards were lead to the empty chairs.

One of the men was sobbing so hard he was unable to walk and had to be carried, and there was a witch who kicked and screamed, and had to be dragged to her chair by two of the bulkiest security wizards and held there while a third secured her chains. The rest of them were silent, as if they already knew what was going to happen and just wanted to get over with it.

"Some of you may think that there's space for negotiation in holding up your end of the bargain, or that any attempt to break our terms wouldn't be taken in all seriousness," said Yaxley, as all the prisoners were made to sit in the chairs and held there by the chains. "But you would be wrong," he looked at them, taking his wand out.

With a swish of it, he conjured a ball of light that shaped up into a large dog of a Patronus, that looked like it was about to kill. Seeing that the other two men and some of the security officials followed his example and conjured their own Patronuses, Scabior swallowed hard and tried to steady himself.

As the first pair of Dementors glided in to the room, he could feel his jaw tightening instinctively, and by the time there was one standing behind each prisoner, he was grinding his teeth so hard it made his whole head ache again. He never took the time to learn how to conjure a proper, corporeal Patronus, but as a shiver started running up and down his back, he decided to give it a try as soon as he got out of here.

They all knew the Department's second in command, Albert Runcorn, as he was present when they left Azkaban, making sure only the right people could leave the island, so when Yaxley nodded towards him, he just stepped up, unrolled the parchment he was holding, and started reading the names of the prisoners and their crimes out loud.

All of them were guilty of breaking their parole. Some didn't even show up to claim their wands, but most of them tried to sneak away during the night. The witch who was still screaming hoarsely, killed two of the Ministry's people when they wanted to arrest her, and the wizard who had stopped crying since, only to sit very still with his eyes closed, failed to come when he was Summoned like the rest of them.

They were all sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss, in a perfect demonstration of power, and a very clear warning for the rest of them.

"Proceed!" ordered Yaxley, and there were gasps and grunts coming from the onlookers as the Dementors one by one lifted their hoods and revealed their faces. When they stepped closer to the prisoners, Scabior dropped his gaze, closed his eyes and tried very hard to concentrate on something else, anything else.

Next to him, Tamora was watching it with a hand pressed against her mouth, breathing heavily with horror, and listening to that gave him some distraction for a while, but then the prisoners started screaming for mercy, and it sounded an awfully lot like being back in Azkaban.

No matter how hard he tried to open his eyes to make sure he was still in the Ministry of Magic and not back in his cell, they remained shut, so when he felt Tamora's hand looking for his, he grabbed it and hoped she wouldn't break any of his fingers in her desperate need for support.

She gripped his hand even tighter when the screams stopped, which told Scabior that it would be the worst possible time to look up, so he took a deep breath, pushed his chin closer down to his chest and waited.

It couldn't have lasted for more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours until her fingers finally relaxed a bit.

The Dementors were still there, moving around their victims as if they wanted to make sure they didn't leave a morsel of soul in them, but they sat with faces so blank, they looked like they'd never even lived before. The Dementors hovered even further back when Yaxley motioned towards the guards to escort the prisoners out of the room to be taken to the Isle of Azkaban, where they would spend the rest of their lives, wandering the rocky shores around the prison.

There was no need for another big speech about their duties towards the Ministry, so soon after the last Dementor was out of sight, Yaxley dismissed his Patronus and left too, leaving Runcorn behind.

Feeling a bit shaky, Scabior took a few deep breaths, then looked at Tamora. She still had her free hand in front of her mouth, and was sitting with **her **eyes closed, but when he gently squeezed her cold fingers, she looked up at him, clearing her throat and trying to force a smile.

"I'm all right," she cleared her throat again. She looked sick and tired, with lips perfectly white and cirles under her eyes alarmingly dark, but as she was trying to be brave about it, Scabior smiled back at her with all his might, but decided not to pull his hand away.

It took the guards a few minutes to get everyone who needed help out of the room and make the rest of them settle down, but when they were finished, Runcorn took a step towards them and raised his head.

"Now that you know your place," he started, looking at them like he was their one and only master, "there is work to be done. I want those who hear their names to come down here and wait for further orders. The rest of you are dismissed," he barked, then gave the floor to one of his men, who started reading names from a parchment.

There must have been some logic behind all this, but since he could not see it, Scabior sat back and watched as groups of sixes and sevens were called and taken out of the room, all the while hoping that he wouldn't be on the list. He needed some air, he longed for a drink, and he truly, desperately wanted to lie down and not move for the rest of the day.

He got into the fourth group.

"See you later," he whispered to her as he stood up and let her hand slip out of his, before marching down the stairs to join the others. For her own sake, he hoped she wouldn't be picked, but was happy that at least they got into different groups. She was a spectacular fuck, but he would have hated to babysit her through the thick of it when curses started to fly.

oOo

Tamora only Exceeded Expectations in her N.E.W.T.s for Palmistry and Physiognomy, but by the time the third group gathered around their assigned leader and left the room, she could tell that whatever the job was, the Ministry needed people who did serious time for violent crimes, but managed to keep their wits in Azkaban.

She also knew that both her and Scabior would likely be chosen, because there weren't that many sane people in the room, and so she watched him strutting down the stairs with a sigh. At least they got into different groups. He had gorgeous eyes and was as insatiably hungry as she liked them, but she would have hated him to think that she needed him to hold her hand from now on.

Or maybe she could have been a little more careful about what she wished for, because as she looked at the group she ended up with, she had to admit that there were worse things on the planet then men who wanted to treat her like a doll.

* * *

><p><em>Yay, cliffhanger! :)<em>

_Sorry for the delay. Some Stupid Real Life Drama caught up with me, so I didn't really have time to write. I promise the next chapter will be coming sooner and will be of proper lenght too.  
>Sam, Anna and Gitta are still the best consulting readers ever.<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Tamora only met the Carrows once before, when she was around five.

Some great-great-great-uncle of her father's died, and in his will he left something to each and every one of his relatives, no matter how distant, so they had to go to some big house with an even bigger garden to collect it. Her mother put her in a lovely new dress and braided her hair so intricately that it took half an hour to undo it in the evening. While the adults listened to the Will being read out, the children were waiting in the second largest reception room, under the supervision of a pair of ghostly twin sisters, wearing the most magnificent dress robes and neck ruffs.

Tamora was playing with two other girls around her age whom she knew from the nearby villages, when Alecto and her brother, Amycus started a fight. He was a big boy, already in his second year at Hogwarts, but before the sisters had a chance to float out of the room and fetch a parent, Alecto was on top of him, pressing his face into the carpet and keeping him pinned to the ground so effectively, he could hardly move.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I yield!" he groaned under her.

"All right, then," nodded Alecto, letting go of his hand and rolling off his back as elegantly as her short legs allowed, before looking around with a wide, triumphant grin. Tamora was too thrilled to see a girl win over a boy to be able to supress clapping her hands, earning a friendly wink from Alecto.

"Well done, little coz!" cheered one of the Avery sisters, sitting at the big girls' table and waving for Alecto to join them. "Just wait until you get a wand too," she and her friends chuckled, offering her a seat with them.

Tamora wondered if she should try to remind them of their family connections, but as soon as they got back their wands and arrived to the garden of a small cottage at the middle of nowhere, they had to start working.

"The hostage arrives within an hour, and I want this place to be unpenetrable by then," announced Alecto, opening the front door with a flick of her wand. "You three, with me," she pointed at Tamora and two of the men, waving her hand for them to follow, while the rest of the team stayed outside with her brother.

They needed all sixty minutes, and a little more. The house must have belonged to Muggles before they were taken care of, as it was packed with all kinds of electric rubbish that kept on making strange noises whenever they went too close to them with magic, and lacked even the most basic charms.

"It will do," nodded Amycus, when he came in to the house to check how they were doing. Since they didn't have three days to weave a proper net of Anti-Apparition charms and hexes, they concentrated on covering all the doors and windows, and setting up a few traps and alarms.

"We can send word to Travers to bring him," agreed Alecto, stepping towards the door and her brother.

When she saw her conjure a Patronus, Tamora shifted from one foot to the other, gripping her wand just a fraction thighter and expecting Dementors to burst through the door, but as soon as the large, feline creature took shape, it disappeared to thin air too, carrying their message back to the Ministry, or wherever this Travers was.

They didn't have to wait more than a minute, until a tall wizard with an extremely well-kempt, full beard Reapparated to the living room. He didn't say a word, only scanned the room and nodded with a grunt, before snapping his fingers. Two more men arrived instantly, carrying a third, unconscious one with a bag over his head to the nearest armchair.

"You want him Revived, ma'am?" asked one of them, when they finished securing him to the chair with chains and charms.

"Just take off the bag and make sure he doesn't choke on his own tounge," shrugged Alecto.

The man's face was covered in bruises and blood, but it couldn't keep Tamora from recognising him at once from the scars around his left eye and cheek, because she was the one who gave them to him.

Edmund Savage, and his father, the former Junior Assistant to the Head of Auror Office were the reason she got seven months in Azkaban for that stupid accident; four for the dead Muggle and three more for attacking the Aurors sent for her. She really shouldn't have ruined the kid's pretty face.

"Let his father know that he has until midnight," said Amycus, clapping Travers on the shoulder, as he and his men were about to leave.

"I hope he comes sooner than that," sighed Alecto as they Disapparated with three faint pops, clearing the sofa from all the cushions and sitting at the middle of it, putting her feet up on the coffee table. "This place makes me sick in the stomach."

"You should see the garden," grunted Amycus. "It's full of gnomes. Muggle gnomes, made of porcelain," he shivered theatrically, before putting on his hood against the wind and backing away towards the door.

"Save the ugliest for me, will you?" cried Alecto, turning after him. "I promised Malfoy something to replace that vase of his wife's I've broken."

It was a little unnerving that the Carrows spoke so freely in front of them, and it made the other two wizards shift uneasily, but Tamora had time to get used to being treated like a deaf elf during her stay with Madam Scrooge, so she just turned her eyes towards Edmund Savage. He looked like he had a long line of rough nights.

"You have unfinished business with him?" chuckled Alecto, and Tamora snapped her head towards her with a start. She couldn't tell how long had she been staring at Savage, but considering the smile on the other woman's face, it must have been quite some time.

"He put me in Azkaban," nodded Tamora, and before she could bite down on her tongue, she went on. "What happens to him after midnight?" she asked, looking Alecto in the eye.

"I'm gonna kill him," she replied with a grin and a curiously raised brow, but he could have Legilimented Tamora then and there and never learn how she felt about it.

Sometimes she still saw Edmund Savage in her dreams, locking her in a cell, and the notion of him dying was too out of this world to induce feelings that could be named, apart from a quickened heart rate and a crawling sensation around the back of her neck.

oOo

Back when he'd been at Hogwarts, Scabior had a Muggle-born friend, Vincent, who used to teach them the most hilarious and expressive phrases from the non-magical side of the world. 'Cannon fodder' was one of them, and as he pulled himself up to the top of a Muggle metal container, Scabior briefly remembered Vince, and wondered if he and his pretty wife were still in Mexico, breeding feathered serpents, and if they were still willing to have him around.

Becoming a farmhand had never been part of his great plans for life, but by the time the sun was setting on his first day in the service of the Ministry, it was starting to sound more and more like a promising alternative. He heard somewhere that the venom of those beasts could give you the most spectacular hallucinations before you finally died.

His only problem was that he had to survive the night to be able to give proper thought to getting rid of the Trace on him and slipping away to sunshine, sandy beaches and other pleasures of an ever-lasting holiday.

None of them doubted that Kingsley Shacklebolt and his friends knew they were tracking them, for they've been luring them from one perfectly defendable hiding place to the next all day. Too bad the Ministry wanted him alive, because they could have torched the first house they found them in and be done with it, instead of scrambling after him up and down the country.

After a few seconds of laying flat against the top of the container, he raised his head tentatively to watch the others take their position. Even though they were nine against three when they set off, they have already lost two men at previous locations, so they were all getting a little more cautious with the team of ex-Aurors.

As soon as the fight started, Scabior knew he picked the best spot he could. True, he was out in the open, but he wasn't in any danger of being buried under a large pile of scrap metal, and he could see everything that was going on, so he only gave up this perfect position when one of the fools let himself be lured away from the rest of the group by Proudfoot. Not that he didn't deserve anything the witch had in store for him, but they couldn't afford losing another man, when Shacklebolt alone could fight three at a time.

No matter how fast he ran, by the time he caught up with Proudfoot and the idiot, he was already too late. So late that for a moment he considered letting the other man dealing with the consequences of his own stupidity.

Duelling amongst all that Muggle junk made both parties slower, but here, where there were no piles of sharp metal object around and the curses could fly wherever they wanted, the ex-Auror had the upper hand. Even though she was outnumbered, her training seemed to make up for it easily, and it soon turned into something very different from the fights Scabior usually got into.

To make things even more difficult, the moron on his right kept blocking Scabior and sending his spells at the worst possible moments, so while he considered himself a good enough team player, soon he stopped caring if his curses hit him or the witch.

He almost thanked her when she finally hit the halfwit square in the face with a Stunning Spell, but of course she left him no time for such niceties and turned on him with all she had right away.

She knew all the tricks he wanted to play on her, and used some of her own that Scabior never even heard of, so in the end he won by sheer dumb luck.

His curse only grazed her, but it gave him a chance to turn the tide. He gave up on big, powerful spells that could win you a duel, and concentrated on hexes and jinxes that could be cast quickly and without much effort to keep her from a counter-attack for a while, and most importantly to try to push her out of the clearing.

There was some grim satisfaction in watching an Auror struggle, and it turned into a thrill so fast that Scabior almost had to remind himself that this wasn't a game, but when she failed to block a second jinx of his, he couldn't keep himself from grinning, and when a third, final curse hit her, he threw caution to the wind and enjoyed a few precious seconds of laughter and joy before he went near to check if she was really down and to tie her up.

After securing the last bit of magical ropes around her ankles, Scabior sat back on his heels and looked around, raking his nails across his tattoo.

The Trace was one of the main reasons he didn't try to make a run for it then and there, with the rest of the group either unconscious or busy fighting Shacklebolt and the other Auror, but he had to admit that greed played some part in it too. A reward was promised to them, and he just single-handedly caught Miranda Proudfoot, so he scratched his neck again, this time with a bit more force, and decided to stay at least until he could find a proper way out.

And if he could earn some gold while he waited, the more the better.

oOo

Knowing that he would be too valuable in the hands of the Death Eaters, William Savage stayed away and never came for his son, but as any true general would, he sent his best for him. They arrived a little after sunset, and killed two of the Ministry's new men within as many minutes, and from then on it quickly evolved into a flurry of spells and cries of pain.

As per instructions, Tamora never left the side of the hostage, and soon she found herself in the room with three Aurors and only Alecto by her side. She deflected curse after curse, but as panic started to creep up her spine, she gave up on defensive spells and started a counter-attack that was almost too vicious for duelling indoors.

With Alecto they managed to kill a wizard each and capture the third one, but all Tamora could feel was fatigue numbing her muscles and melting her bones, so when the fighting was done and Amycus and the others brought a second prisoner to the room, she drifted to the side, buried both her hands in her pockets and hung her head slightly.

They didn't give her much time to recover though.

As soon as the identities of the trapped witch and wizard were cleared, Alecto beckoned her closer.

"You deserve it," she put a hand on her shoulder like a big sister would, motioning towards Savage with her head.

Tamora could feel both Carrows watching her, and some of the men too. So it wasn't just a gift; it was a test. She could also feel some new blood seeping from her nose, so she sniffed and swallowed hard, never taking her eyes off Savage. He must have known he was going to die, but she couldn't see any signs of fear on his face.

"You know how it's done, right?" asked Alecto. "The key is that you have to mean it," she whispered. Her hand was getting heavy on Tamora's shoulder, but she didn't take it away, not even when she nodded and moved half a step closer to the ex-Auror.

This wasn't how she imagined it. She wanted Savage to feel at least some of the terror she felt when he and his friends took her, but here he was, tied to a chair, all bloody and bruised, his life in her hands, and he wasn't afraid at all.

"Go on then," said Alecto, petting her shoulder one last time before letting go and taking a step back.

Tamora raised her wand slowly, pointing its tip at Savage's heart and gripping its handle hard. He raised his head slightly, looking her right in the eyes with every last bit of defiance he possessed, so she swallowed again and spoke the words firmly:

"Avada Kedavra!"

To Tamora's horror, the jet of green light lost some of its momentum as it entered Savage's chest, causing him to throw his head back in agony, but leaving him very much alive, if a bit gasping for breath.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," groaned Amycus, turning away slightly, as if he knew nothing more disgusting than a Killing Curse messed up.

Behind her back, Alecto gave a disappointed sigh too, and as Tamora could feel her step closer and lift her wand to finish what she failed with, she raised her own without a second's hesitation, and slashed it in front of Savage's throat with a cry.

The cut went deep, almost severing his neck in half, but Tamora only flinched when she turned around with fear and saw Alecto's smile.

"You've got a lot to learn," chuckled the Death Eater.

Tamora nodded shakily, and looked back at her handiwork. Edmund Savage was finally dead, and she was the one who killed him.

oOo

Edward Yaxley sat back in his chair and waited for his assistant to put down the tray, pour his tea and leave. It was going to be a long night, and for a moment he wondered if he should have asked for something stronger instead. Messages have been flying in to his office all day, so pieces, scraps and rolls of parchment covered his table, and he didn't want to leave a single one unread before his visit to Malfoy Manor in the morning.

"Anything else, sir?" asked the young wizard in a low voice, stepping back when he was finished with the tea.

Yaxley just waved his hand, sending him away before reaching for the next report.

Boosting their numbers by opening the gates of Azkaban had been his idea, but of course his ambitions were greater than giving the Dark Lord some foot soldiers. While the rest of the Death Eaters considered these people only little better than dogs, he already had his eyes on a dozen of them, knowing that in the right hand, a well-trained bloodhound could be invaluable.

oOo

The Leaky Cauldron was so crowded with plenty of witches and wizards getting unexpected gold, that people were sitting even on the stairs. As Tamora made her way upstairs, she felt happy she had her dinner at the first Muggle vendor she passed, and was even happier to have paid for one more night in her room before they left in the morning. She had no idea where she would go next, so keeping this room for a few more days sounded like the best of plans she could come up with for the time being.

There must have been a thousand more important things on the mind of the staff and the elves, and the candles burned really low on the corridor, but finding the key in her pocket was harder than findig the keyhole, so she didn't even bother with a Wand-Lighting Charm.

She almost backed out to the corridor when she opened the door and was met by a single candle's light.

It was a surprise to see Scabior here, to say the least.

When he told her he'd be back, she thought it was something he tells to all the girls before never seeing them again, but here he was, fast asleep in her bed. He didn't even stir when she entered the room and closed the door, and while it was too dark to make out much of his face, his breathing was deep and peaceful, and Tamora could hardly wait to join him.

As she put her jacket next to his on the hook, she noticed that he had the same red armband that she was given back at the Ministry, as a reward for her good work tied over his. She looked at him again, wondering how he could have earned his, but then she just kicked off her boots and walked further into the room.

The floorboards creaked a bit, no matter how slowly she stepped on them, but he woke up only when she put her trousers over the back of the chair next to his, and it slipped off, pulled by the weight of his heavy, studded belt.

"Sorry," she whispered as he turned to her with a frown, picking it up and folding it neatly in two, before putting it back on the seat.

"It's okay," he rubbed his face, before looking back at her, and propping himself up on an elbow as she took off her shirt too.

She loved his eyes on her body, and so she went on without a word, but when she finished, she turned to him, searching his face.

"I killed the man who put me in Azkaban," she said, raising her chin, because she wanted him to know that. She wanted everyone to know that. His eyes snapped up to hers instantly, and his smile widened into a grin that had nothing to do with her nakedness. She loved that grin on him even more.

"Come over 'ere," he kicked the covers aside and was about to get up too, but Tamora stepped to him and put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him seated on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through his hair.

"I need a shower first," she moved from him, when she felt his hands on the back of her thighs, trying to pull her closer. "But don't go back to sleep," she caressed his face with a smile, before turning away and walking to the bathroom. With her wand back, Edmund Savage dead and a new lover in her bed, she felt truly alive for the first time in a very long while.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry, some scenes proved to be trickier than I expected, so it took me ages to finish this chapter.<em>  
><em>I'd love to know what you think of it, so please read and review! :)<em>

_As ever: I have to thank my wonderful helpers, Gitta, Anna and Sam._


	5. Chapter 5

_[A.k.a. Chapter Four and a Half]_

Tamora returned to The Leaky Cauldron well after midnight, looking tired and worn, but when Scabior waved at her from their table where he was sitting with some new, but all the more valuable friends, she joined them with a smile. She didn't say much, but snuggled close when he put an arm around her shoulder, laughed at all of their jokes, sipping his drink every now and then, and Scabior never suspected a thing, not even when upstairs she pushed him against the door and kissed him so hard it almost hurt.

He was way too intoxicated to be able to tell the difference between a woman in heat and one in despair, so he just handed over the reins with a pleased grunt, and afterwards, when she slipped out of bed to have a shower, he laid back with an exhausted sigh and a satisfied grin.

Life finally started treating him right. He had money in his pocket, a place to sleep at, and someone to sleep with, and it was all the happines he needed for now. He knew it wouldn't last long, because nice things never did, and because the Ministry was still holding him on a leash, but he was very good at ignoring gathering clouds.

He only noticed that something was amiss when he dozed off and woke again, and she was still in the bathroom. Some of the candles were burnt out, and the rest were getting really short too, so she must have been in there for some time, and overlong showers right after sex seldom bode well. But before he could have decided what to do about it, or if he should do anything about it at all, she was back, blowing out the candles and lying back next to him.

"Everythin' all right, love?" he asked, turning on his side and caressing her upper arm with a finger.

"Sure," she nodded, but her body said otherwise. She turned her back to him and snuggled close so that it was against his chest, but her spine and neck remained stiff, and there was something about rhythm of her breathing that Scabior just didn't like, so he sneaked his arm around her and kissed the back of her head.

He waited for her to say something, but wasn't surprised when she didn't. So maybe it was nothing. Or just none of his business.

Still, having the final word in this conversation was the honourable thing to do: "If you need 'elp with gutting the bastard who 'urt you," he leaned closer to her, "just know that I'm 'ere, okay?"

Sure, it wasn't the most romantic thing he ever said to a girl, and even further from riding in on a white Hippogriff and saving the day, but it seemed to work just fine.

"Thanks," she chuckled, finally relaxing in his arm a little, and since he knew it was all he could have wished for at the moment, he put his forehead against her still damp hair and closed his eyes. It didn't take him more than moments to fall back to sleep after he gave up on fighting against it.

oOo

When Scabior finally went back to sleep, Tamora felt a little relieved that he didn't want to push things further, because after the day she had, it would have been very hard not to bury her face into his neck, cry her heart out and tell him everything.

That what she did to him in the morning was her way of saying goodbye, because even though she knew it was vanity, she wanted to make sure he'd think of her fondly when she was gone, and because she wanted to hear that sound he usually made when he came undone, something between a laugh and a groan, one last time.

That she had a really good plan on how to fake an injury to be able to slip away from duty, but that she felt more than lucky she didn't have to put it into action, because now that she thought of it, it could have ended in her losing an eye and an arm too.

That she had given practically all her money to a friend of a friend of an acquaintance of a friend, and that there's only one thing more painful than the process of eliminating a Trace; when in the end they tell you it's impossible, but they give you a shot of Firewhiskey free of charge, because you really need it, but you couldn't buy it.

If he pressed on, she probably would have even told him that she was terrified, because she just wanted to get her wand back, but ended up more trapped than when she had to live as a Squib, and because she had no idea what to do now.

But he was asleep, safe and sound, so she didn't have to worry about her tears and her secrets.

She cried enough already – once at the dingy store-room where she wanted her Trace to be lifted, once on the way home, collapsing on a park bench, and once again under the shower –, so it was time to stop the tears and look ahead.

She had her wand, and as people bigger than her put it, magic was might. She had one more piece of jewellery that could be turned into coin if things turned even worse. And to have more than two items on that list of counted blessings; she had someone to hold her tight when she needed it the most.

Knowing that she wouldn't get much rest this night, she closed her eyes to keep them from burning and allowed herself a shaky sigh, hoping that it wouldn't be too long before she could stop thinking of propaganda one-liners as friendly advice, and a tacky old necklace as financial security. But at least she didn't know Scabior well enough to start guessing how much of a mess _he_ really was, and so she could find some comfort in him, snuggling closer to his chest, listening to him breathe in his sleep and playing with the ring on his finger absent-mindedly, as a child would with the ear of her teddy bear.

* * *

><p><em>My special thanks to <em>_**Dragon MoonX**__, because I wanted to deal with this topic a little later, but her question made me think about it, and once I started thinking, I couldn't let it go. And because she leaves the most wonderful review.  
>Thanks again, and I promise that the next chapter will be of proper length.<em>


End file.
